


The Next Day of the Rest of Their Lives

by mokiwrites



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Ineffable husbands - Fandom
Genre: Finally, First Kiss, I just wanted to write them kissing, Idiots in Love, M/M, THEY DESERVE IT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 05:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19222531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mokiwrites/pseuds/mokiwrites
Summary: Surprise, Good Omens clubbed me over the head and dragged me into it's soft, soft, loving fandom.So, here's our favorite ineffable husbands finally getting to share a kiss after 6000 years.





	The Next Day of the Rest of Their Lives

They weren’t quite drunk, not yet, at least. It would take another bottle more for each of them to get there, at the bare minimum. But they were just tipsy enough to throw aside six millennia of inhibition.

Or, perhaps, it was due to the fact that Armageddon had been so tactfully avoided and both sides had been quite thoroughly convinced to leave them be.

The Antichrist had saved the world and given up his powers a little more than twenty-four hours ago while an Angel and a Demon had been enjoying each other’s company _ in peace  _ for the last four.

First, they dined at their favorite restaurant (the Ritz) at their favorite table (the one situated just by the piano) while carrying on a lively conversation that eventually simmered down to hearty laughs and quiet giggles. It rained briefly, a gentle shower that promised the coming of autumn and left the streets and sidewalks glittering like stars under the city’s lights.

Crowley suggested they walk to Aziraphale’s bookshop instead of taking the Bently, much to the angel’s surprise. (And maybe someone might notice a vintage, driverless Bently driving itself to where it needed to be.) He was more than enthusiastic to agree, however. It was a lovely night. They would all be rather lovely from now on, thought Aziraphale.

They started with arms linked, but somewhere halfway to the bookshop Crowley’s arm began to lower and straighten, bit by bit, with Aziraphale’s following easily. He was too caught up in excitedly recounting the time he had met Oscar Wilde in 1892 to pay much attention.

At least, not until fingers brushed and Crowley hesitantly clasped a smaller, plumper hand so gently that one might think he was holding a fragile baby bird.

Aziraphale trailed off and didn’t bother to finish whatever it was he was saying, eyes focused on their joined hands, on Crowley’s heat and his subtle tremble. With a smile that lit up his entire face, Aziraphale laced their fingers together and watched as a blush crept up onto Crowley’s sharp cheeks and his throat bob with a hard swallow.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, tone soft and endearing in a way that made Crowley untrusting of the steadiness of his own voice.

“Hm?” The demon replied. No worry of words failing him that way.

Aziraphale came to a stop and by proxy so did Crowley.

They stood face to face on the sidewalk beneath a sky sparkling with stars between the parting clouds as the world continued on around them. Alive. Still there. All in one piece. The Soho nightlife on a Sunday night wasn’t particularly active, but they weren’t alone on the quiet streets either.

Crowley wasn’t one for cliches, but if one asked him he would say that time slowed down when what happened next, happened. And not by his doing, either.

Aziraphale reached up and pushed the sunglasses up to rest atop auburn hair and took a moment to simply look into yellow, serpentine eyes. Then there were fingers gliding down the side of a high cheek, the hand coming to rest against there against his face. Crowley couldn’t take his eyes off the angel, stuck in some sort of lovelorn trance that drew him in deeper with every touch. He didn’t notice Aziraphale had risen onto the balls of this feet to gain a few inches of height. The next thing he _ did _ notice was Aziraphale closing the gap between them, then their lips brushing with a touch of uncertain hesitance, and finally being pressed together with purpose. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, in all of Heaven and in all of Hell that compared to the rush it sent through him or the way something down in the pit of his soul finally burst and bled throughout his entire being.

It made Aziraphale draw back abruptly with a short gasp.

“Oh,” he breathed out, smiling almost bashfully. “Oh, my…”

Crowley stood there dumbfounded, staring, lips still parted, and brain struggling to catch up to the events of the last few seconds. His heart hammered within his chest, loud in his own ears. It took a soft squeeze of his hand to pull him together again, blinking in bewilderment. Aziraphale still seemed to be having some trouble forming a full sentence, and a rather charming pinkness had taken to his whole face.

“Angel?” Crowley asked, having apparently remembered how to use words.

Heaven had  _ nothing _ on the blue of Aziraphale’s eyes, especially when they settled on Crowley with so much adoration behind them.

“You’re practically radiating love, my dear. I… I’ve never felt love this strong before.”

Just over a day ago, the demon might have brushed it off, sneered and hissed at how ridiculous he was being, denied it till his dying breath. Crowley did no such thing now.

“I would certainly hope you haven’t. Don’t think anyone else has been repressing theirs for the last six thousand years. Except maybe you.”

Aziraphale hadn’t the time to reply, as Crowley had already bent down to take his lips again. It was firm and rushed, thousands of years of longing boiling over from a smoldering ash turned wildfire.

No more fear or anger or sadness. No more hiding and running. No more making excuses for chance encounters.

There was only love. 

Love that shone as bright as the lights of Heaven. 

Love as endless as the depths of Hell. 

A love that helped save the world.

And it was  _ theirs. _


End file.
